


Trade-Offs

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Not all sick days are bad days.





	Trade-Offs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

"Kurt, I'm fine," Blaine said, sighing when Kurt draped a blanket over his shoulders, humming nonchalantly.

"You're sick."  Fluffing a pillow, Kurt added, "I'm taking care of you."  With a smooth flourish he tucked the newly-fluffed pillow behind Blaine's back, kissing the top of his head and dancing back a step before Blaine could properly swat him with the pillow in retaliation. "End of discussion."

Coughing into his sleeve, Blaine waited for the fit to pass before insisting thickly, "I can't miss rehearsal tonight.  We're two weeks away from opening night."

"And if you go, there won't be an opening night because everyone else will be sick, too," Kurt reminded, folding laundry patiently at the foot of the bed. 

Blaine watched him work, cotton-headed but oddly entranced, knowing that Kurt was right but still refusing to concede defeat that easily.  He had made it through his classes, after all, even if he had spent most of his time coughing as discreetly as he could into a handkerchief.  He was functional.  Said-functionality seemed to be leeching out of him with every second spent ensconced in the blanket Kurt had given him, but he could manage rehearsal.  As long as he didn't have to get up and sing tonight, he resolved, he would be fine.  He could just sit in the corner and watch the performance, if nothing else; it would be a nice, productive way to spend his time.

Kurt wasn't having any of it, though, and Blaine knew why, even as his fever-addled mind produced the singularly glowing defense of, "I won't get anyone sick."

Kurt hummed deeply, piling the folded clothes into a dresser before grabbing a battered copy of Prisoner of Azkaban on top of the dresser and tossing it onto the bed beside Blaine.

Blaine pouted, resisting the immediate itch to pick it up.  He wasn't a dog; Kurt couldn't just throw him a bone and expect him to be happy.  He was an adult, and he had to do adult things, even if his voice was so raspy he could have doubled as an asthmatic miner, should his supporting role flop.  Still, he couldn't help straightening the book from its haphazard flop, smoothing a hand over the cover gently.  Kurt had his own polished set, of course, still in relatively pristine condition (as almost all of his books were, Blaine had noticed), but Blaine's were dog-earred and faded and a little rough around the edges, as well-loved as they were well-read.

Even in their less than perfect condition, he wouldn't have traded them for anything.

Looking up from the yellowed pages, he caught sight of Kurt disappearing around the corner, calling in a singsong voice, "Let me know if you need anything."

Blaine considered -- for austerity's sake -- getting up, showering, and scrambling out the door.  He could still make rehearsal on time if he left immediately.  The cold, wet night air appealed to him about as much as an icy shower, but he had a moral obligation to support the team and be a part of the production that he had worked so hard to join.  He couldn't abandon them so soon, regardless of how awful he felt or how appealing staying in his blanket nest was.  He couldn't.

A low rumble of thunder made his decision for him.  Reaching guiltily for his phone on the night stand, he sighed, bracing himself for the spectacular telling off that was certain to ensue, and was surprised to see three messages already on the screen.

Kurt told me.  Don't worry about Jay.  I've got your back. --Elliot

And listen to Kurt.  Jay will -literally- maim you if you get him sick.  --Elliot

Oh, and next three coffees are on you.  Feel better! --Elliot

Coughing into his sleeve, Blaine sniffed and tapped out, Life saver.  Don't get in too much trouble.  --Blaine

Even with a knot of guilt tightening his stomach, Blaine couldn't help but feel relieved.  Wondering if it would be worth it to venture into the kitchen and apologize to Kurt, Blaine set his phone aside and picked up Prisoner of Azkaban instead, intending to read only a chapter or two before focusing on his script.  He already knew it by heart, but opening night was approaching and he couldn't afford to slip up now, sick or not.  Still, the lure of a reread was nearly irresistible, and by the time he reached the fifth chapter Kurt was back, laptop in one hand and two glasses of water in the other.

"You're too good to me," Blaine said, letting his head drop onto Kurt's shoulder the second it was in reach, eliciting an amused hum in return as Kurt arranged himself comfortably against the headboard beside him, setting their waters aside.

"Mmhm.  Tequila night, honey," he replied, already at work on a blog post.

Blaine's own memories of the grand tequila disaster were fuzzy, but he still remembered the end result: Kurt swearing off tequila after a night of seemingly endless sickness, Blaine remaining at his side throughout the ordeal.

"You're still too good to me," Blaine insisted, because Kurt was, regardless of the trade-offs.

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly, hardly glancing away from the laptop as he kissed Blaine's temple before returning to his post, typing away.  When he finished the paragraph, Blaine idly following the words on screen with his head on Kurt's shoulder, Kurt set his laptop aside and turned to look at him properly, Blaine lifting his head to accommodate him.  "I didn't marry you because I thought you were perfect, I married you because I love you with all of your flaws," Kurt explained.  "And you're not nearly as bad as Rachel," he added lightly, leaning back against the headboard and letting Blaine resume his former slouch against his shoulder.  "Even if you do refuse to admit you're sick."

"I'm not sick," Blaine said reflexively, book half-forgotten in his hands as he watched Kurt type.  Closing his eyes to ward off an encroaching headache, he added, "They need to invent better drugs."

"The current ones are good.  You just don't take them."

Scrunching up his nose, Blaine said, "They make my head all woozy."

"Is your head woozy now?" Kurt asked, genuinely curious, his fingers still tap-tap-tapping away.

"A little," Blaine admitted.

"I'll get you more Tylenol."

"'kay."

Blaine curled up in the warm spot Kurt left behind, hoping that a slightly lower elevation might reduce his headache.

Unfortunately, lying down also meant that he was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, waking briefly to take the meds that Kurt brought before curling up around his knee, dozing off with Kurt's hand carding gently through his hair.

As far as being sick was concerned, Blaine decided, there were worse things than missing a rehearsal to spend more time with Kurt.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
